I don’t have but a moment to log on. I’ve gone from the frying pan into the fire; Jonah woke up in the wee hours of the morning sick and now is in a big chair wrapped in a blanket, pale as a ghost, sipping ginger ale and watching Thomas the Tank Engine and saying “swat! swat!” — and I can only hope he is too weak to try to hurt me because I can’t send him to school and I can’t go to work and I am now officially pushed to the edge of the cliff where I cling to this existence.
Now there are piles of laundry and nothing to eat in the house and a long, strange day ahead of me where just about anything can happen. Even if a respite place has room for Jonah now I don’t know if they’ll take him if he’s sick. The weekend is looming and my nerves are shot to hell. There’s no way to sugarcoat this, even if I wanted to…
Happy Friday.
The Never Normal 